


The Brothers Holmes Are Close

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Consensual Underage Sex, First Time, M/M, No Eurus Holmes, Oral Sex, POV Mycroft Holmes, Pre-Canon, Sherlock Is 16 And Mycroft Is 23, Sherlock is cunning, Sibling Incest, Smut, Teenlock, Virgin Sherlock Holmes, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 08:05:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18587170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Mycroft is visiting his parents and Sherlock for Christmas. Sherlock asks him something and in the end their evening ends in a way Mycroft has never expected.





	The Brothers Holmes Are Close

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock is 16 but I still choose the underage tag, just in case.
> 
> Probably the cheesiest story I wrote in a while but hey, you have to do what the muse wants you to do! I hope you will still enjoy :)

“Mycroft…”

Mycroft looks up from his book about Queen Victoria. “Yes?” He smiles at his little brother, all long limbs and boyish looks and a very deep voice he will grow into over the next couple of years. It's a real pleasure to be able to spend some time with him again. Their parents have gone out to meet friends on this Christmas Day evening, leaving their 'boys' to themselves.

They have eaten together and watched some telly and now they are sitting comfortably in the living room, both enjoying their books. They have always known to both speak and be silent with each other and Mycroft is glad they have not lost their brotherly bond because of being separated thanks to him leaving for uni and then his government job. Mycroft still comes home as often as possible, which is, sadly, not very often, but it is always a joy.

“Can I ask you something?”

“You just did,” Mycroft retorts and expects an eye-roll and a huff at this old joke but Sherlock just bites his plush bottom lip. “Just shoot, Sherlock,” he encourages him with a smile.

To his surprise his little brother blushes. And clears his throat. “Do you think… it's okay to be…” He breaks off, looking at his thighs, his long fingers tapping on them.

Mycroft eyes him curiously. “Different from the other boys?” he concludes then. “We both are. Not that I was still a boy…” He guesses that sounds rather arrogant given his only twenty-three years but he somehow feels a lot older than his years, not physically but mentally.

Now Sherlock does huff. “I know I'm different! Weird even! I don't want to be as dull as everybody else anyway. I've known I'm not like _them_ when I was four!”

“Then what?”

“Gay, Mycroft. Is it okay to be gay?” Sherlock bursts and blushes even harder.

Mycroft is speechless for a moment and then he curses himself. He has been sure that his little brother is gay just like he is for quite some time. He should have talked to him about it. Who else should Sherlock turn to? Their old parents? They will never judge Sherlock (or him) if they tell him they prefer men but they are not the right people to talk to about such delicate matters like sexuality. And he wonders if Sherlock has already made some experiences. The thought is disturbing and he wonders if he is really so different from his mother and father regarding this subject…

He has to focus on Sherlock now of course. “Sherlock, yes, sure it is. I am gay, too. I've never spoken to you about it but… And I've never _come out_ to our parents.”

“Don't want to tell them either,” Sherlock hastily says. “They will get it anyway when neither of us ever brings someone home…”

Mycroft is a bit surprised about Sherlock's statement. They can as well bring a man home! He is sure their parents would welcome any kind and decent partner, regardless of their gender, and be happy about their sons having found someone.

But he has never even thought about doing that. There has never remotely been anyone he would have wanted to introduce to his parents… or spend more than one or two more or less pleasant nights with. And even this happens very rarely. Not only because he hardly has time for anything besides work – even at his young age Mycroft has climbed the ladder of power already very impressively thanks to his unique skills. Mycroft simply doesn’t like to engage with people more than strictly necessary. Apart from his little brother, of course.

“Well, they shouldn’t expect any grandchildren,” he says. “At least not in the conventional way.”

“Would you want that? Children of your own? With some… surrogate mother?” Sherlock grimaces.

“Not really, no.” The sheer thought is ridiculous. Even if he felt the urge to reproduce – he would never be able to be a father, busy as he is and always will be. And such a responsibility is nothing he craves for. He has his – important – occupation, and he has his brother and he really doesn’t believe he has any energy for more obligations in his life. Even though of course Sherlock is no annoying burden. Mycroft has never told him but of course he loves him dearly. The only thing he regrets about leaving home so early and being so tied up is that he never sees enough of his little brother. He hopes that as soon as Sherlock has finished his school education, he will follow him to London and move in with him and go to uni.

“I don't want that either. People…” Sherlock shudders.

Mycroft smiles. “But I guess there is someone? Someone you like?” Because why else should Sherlock ask him this question. It just hasn't sounded that theoretically.

Sherlock blushes again. “Maybe. But he'll never like me this way.”

“How do you know? Have you told him how you feel about him?” Mycroft feels his right eyelid twitch when he asks him that. Who has drawn his brilliant little brother's attention? Hasn't Sherlock just said everybody else was stupid and he didn’t exactly like people?

“No. I don't have to. I know it. I could never be what he wants.”

Could it be a teacher? Who else should be described as above Sherlock? “Is he… older than you?”

“Quite a bit, yes. Very experienced of course. I guess… I could never, you know… give him what he wants.”

Now it's Mycroft's turn to blush. They have never come close to this topic before. Sherlock has never asked him about it and Mycroft has been sure he has read and learned everything he wants to know about it using rather clinical books. “Well… If you really get there some day, and of course you will, you will learn it while you are… doing it.” The thought repulses him with much more force than is logical. Of course his little brother will make his own experiences! He is sixteen! And he is stunningly handsome… Mycroft might have been always a bit jealous of Sherlock's unusual good looks. He has never gone through a chubby phase like Mycroft has done when he was his age. Sherlock's features somehow don't fit together and still combined they make for a beautiful whole. The men in London will be crazy about him!

“I just hope you will make sure you're safe when you get there,” Mycroft continues, avoiding looking at his brother. “Not just physically.”

Sherlock's voice is raspy when he answers. “I will. He's great. He'll never harm me. Perhaps, if I was more experienced… I could convince him that I'm the right one for him.”

“And what are your experiences?” Mycroft can't hold himself back from asking. It's none of his business! And it shouldn’t matter!

“I have none,” Sherlock mumbles. “Never even kissed anyone. But I want to…  I need to learn it before I can… try to… convince him…”

Mycroft swallows. “Well, I'm sure in your school…”

“Are you mad? I wouldn’t touch anyone there if my life depended on it!”

So not a teacher obviously. But who else then? The gardener?! Certainly not! But Mycroft has no idea who their parents' gardener is these days! It's winter and… And why does he think of bloody gardeners now!

“I see,” he slowly says. “But…”

“I want you to teach me,” Sherlock whispers and Mycroft is sure he has misheard.

“Sorry what?”

“You. I want you to teach me how to kiss.”

Mycroft blushes furiously. “No way, Sherlock. You're my little brother and that would be most inappropriate!”

“Brothers have done such things all the time! Jerked off together and stuff…”

Mycroft is speechless for a moment. “You can't be serious, Sherlock.” But his protest is weak to his own ears and Sherlock of course senses it.

His eyes are boring into his while he's getting up from his chair and closing the short distance between them. He is moving like a wild cat, Mycroft realises. Nothing about him is clumsy and childish anymore. He's a young man. And what a handsome, desirable young man…

“No,” he says when Sherlock sits down on his thighs. “This is a really bad idea.”

“Is it? Why?” Sherlock whispers and bends down to him. He's shivering with anxiety but there is something very determined about his behaviour.

 _'He has planned this'_ , shoots through Mycroft's head, and then Sherlock's lips are pressing on his.

It is as if someone is setting his body and mind on fire. The weight of his brother on his lap, the softness and plushness of his full lips, his probing tongue, his breath that ghosts into Mycroft's mouth, his arms around his neck – it's overwhelming.

 _'He was talking about me'_ , he realises, embarrassingly late. He recalls all the times when he has sit in his chair, Sherlock on the floor, his head resting against Mycroft's knees. He thinks of last summer when they swam together in the little lake on their parents' large property, Sherlock splashing water into his face and him grabbing him and playfully putting his head under water. How often has Sherlock come into his bedroom, cuddling up against him, and not only when he was a little boy. He did so when Mycroft came home for their mother's birthday a couple of months ago! And Mycroft held him and felt his warmth…

Sherlock is in love with him. And no matter how much a voice inside his head shouts, _'It's wrong, send him away!'_ – Mycroft has curled his arms around his brother's slim waist and he's, _oh God_ , kissing him back.

With all the willpower he can muster he grabs Sherlock's arms and shoves him away. “No, Sherlock. We can't do that.”

“I know, I know. I've heard you saying it all in my mind. _I'm your brother, you would be taking advantage, I'm too young, our parents will drop dead if they come back and catch us having sex, your job, you'd go to prison_ … Did I forget anything?”

Mycroft stares at him, unable to say a single word.

“And it's all bullshit,” Sherlock continues in a casual tone. “I want it, I'm much older than my years in every regard. We'll do it secretly and never tell anyone, and when I move to London in two years, I'll move in with you and we can have all the sex in the world so I'll be happy with some petting or oral stuff when you're here until then.”

“Petting… Oral… My God… Sherlock, I'm very flattered but this is just a phase…”

“Oh, yes, forgot that one! No, it is not. I've known I want you like this for three years and you know, considering my age, this is an eternity! Nobody else will ever understand me like you do. Nobody is worth wasting my time on them. I want you and nobody else and if you reject me, I'll never have sex with anyone, and come on – that would be a waste!” And with this Sherlock pulls his reindeer-pullover (a present from Mummy) over his head, exposing a smooth but rather broad chest. His stomach muscles are deliciously sculpted and Mycroft catches himself at imagining letting his tongue slide over them… He groans in horror about this unforgivable weakness.

But Sherlock just smiles smugly. “Yeah. I can read your mind sometimes, you know? You want it as much as I do.”

Is that true? Is that the real reason why Mycroft has never got involved with anyone else remotely seriously? Hadn't he acknowledged his brother's beauty just before this happened? Isn't Sherlock the only person he really enjoys spending time with?

He closes his eyes. “We can't…” he mumbles and he doesn’t have to look at Sherlock to know the expression on his face now. The expression of someone who knows he's won.

“Yes, we can. Not now, probably not a good idea. But you'll stay for a few more days, right? We'll be quiet and I'm sure they'll leave us alone again for some hours during the day…”

Mycroft sees flashes of him making love to his brother on his childhood bed and he knows he'll go to hell for this. But he believes Sherlock when he says if he doesn’t agree, he will forever be alone. And who knows what he will do then? He could try to numb his disappointment by drinking and taking even harder drugs. Mycroft knows he already smokes and he's aghast when he hears himself say, “Only when you quit smoking for good.” Has he gone mad?

“Consider it done. Cigarettes taste awful anyway,” Sherlock immediately agrees, and now Mycroft looks at him again, and he can see the joy and affection in his brother's amazing eyes, along with more than just a bit of triumph. “I bet you taste much better…”

So far Mycroft's cock has behaved but at this wanton statement, it starts to rise against his brother's behind. And of course Sherlock notices at once.

“Oh! Well, I'm sure they won't be back until…,” he glances at the clock on the wall, “an hour from now?”

Probably he's right but this is madness! “No, Sherlock, we…”

But Sherlock has already slid from his lap and kneels before him now, unzipping his trousers in one smooth movement. Mycroft gasps, knowing he should end this craziness before it really starts and find more arguments to explain Sherlock why this is the worst idea ever. But somehow his brain stops working when Sherlock's hot mouth engulfs his suddenly fully erect cock after working it out of its confinements.

His head lolls back and he grabs the back of Sherlock's head. “No,” he mumbles and then he winces when Sherlock's teeth scratch over his sensitive flesh.

“Sorry,” Sherlock says, looking up to him. “I've practiced with my fingers but your cock is so thick. And long… We're really brothers!” And with this he winks and then resumes his task, leaving Mycroft to muse about the information he has just received, and his cock swells even more at the image of Sherlock shoving his obviously equally impressive penis into his mouth, and Sherlock is a quick learner; there are no more teeth but just hot, wet pleasure.

The slurping noises, the impossible situation, exposed in their parents' living room, on Christmas Day (!) – it should let Mycroft's erection shrink to nothingness but instead he is more aroused than ever before and soon he feels his orgasm building up.

“Get me out,” he tells Sherlock, knowing that then his sperm will be all over the room and the armchair and himself, and probably Sherlock thinks the same or just wants to go on until the literally bitter end; in any way he is still and more and more skilfully sucking him when Mycroft comes with a loud groan, emptying himself into his brother's mouth, and very unsurprisingly it's the strongest climax he has ever experienced.

Sherlock gags, inevitably, but even though tears are running down his cheeks, he bravely swallows and licks and laps until Mycroft is going soft, and then he lets him go, saliva dribbling from his mouth.

Mycroft gathers enough self-control to pull out his handkerchief and clean Sherlock's face and wipe his soiled trousers before putting it back into his pocket. He feels thoroughly exhausted and completely shaken in more than one way. “Sherlock… Are you really sure you want to go down that path?” he finally brings out and finally tucks himself away.

“Oh yes. Please, Mycroft, give it a try! We'll be so careful and it will be all fine.” Sherlock is back on his lap now.

He knows he should tell him that it just can't be. But after what just has happened, he would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want it. He does. And not just for the sex… He has already decided before this day that Sherlock should live with him when he's moving to London. And now they will be more than brotherly roommates and the image is far from being appalling. He has always loved his little brother, and even though everybody who got to know about their sexual relationship would think he's taking advantage of him simply because of the age gap he knows that Sherlock might be very young but also very well knows his own mind. And it's a brilliant mind above all.

Mycroft will never let any harm happen to him. “All right,” he quietly says. “We'll give it a try. But only if you promise me to tell me at once if you change your mind! I'll never be mad at you and I'll never stop loving you as a brother.”

“I know that. And don't worry – it will never happen.”

Mycroft is not so sure about that but he can't deny that Sherlock is very serious. “All right. So… You did something very nice, and very naughty… for me. What about you?” It has only taken a couple of minutes after all. Their parents will probably not be back so soon.

But Sherlock just smiles and shakes his head. “I've come into my pants when you came. I'm very quiet; I've practiced that, too! And I got myself off earlier, just to calm myself for our conversation, so it wasn’t a lot.”

Mycroft shakes his head but he grins. “Oh, Sherlock. You're quite a handful, aren't you?” And he has always thought Sherlock was all mind and no bodily needs and innocence and purity. Sometimes he is really an idiot…

“I'm much more than a handful,” Sherlock says with a wink, deliberately misunderstanding him as Mycroft is sure. “Well, I guess we'd better clean ourselves up a bit more and then watch some telly?”

“Sounds good. And – you will stay in my bed tonight?”

“Of course! Nobody will be surprised about it.”

This is very true. They have always been close, the brothers Holmes. And now they are just a little bit closer and Mycroft realises he is terrified and shaken but he also is very happy and he can see that Sherlock is, too.

And isn't that all that counts in the end?

 


End file.
